Smoke and Mirrors
by BlueBookBadger
Summary: A curse is cast on a wicked, cold-hearted queen. A girl is pulled from the sea. A boy too quickly becomes a man. A child is too long kept locked away. The spirits of the land are seeking vengeance. The Southern Isles is full of mysteries, and tragedies.
1. Prologue: Forbandelse af den Sidste Født

The troll glowered from his work station, the cold woman in a white gown overseeing the finishing touches to his creation. Before him a silvery mirror glimmered in its steely trim. In its depths a darkness could be seen that caused the troll to shiver, not out of fear of his creation, but as a result of its purpose. How it froze his insides and tied them in an icy knot, oh the horrors it reflected. He continued fixing the stand to the mirror, the ornate steel matching the trim.

"Stop," The white clad witch said, her voice as cold and foreboding as the mirror. The troll froze and raised his stony hands, fear shooting through his body. Previous disobedience has resulted in the destruction of the mirror, and his consequent extension of contract. How he loathed the contract, sealed at midnight with the blood of a newborn calf and the feather of a griffin. The witch's mother, after sparing the troll a bloody fate at the hands of hunters, and in return requested a single wish be granted. At the time, and faced with being turned over to local religious leaders, it seemed an easy task. Give her daughter the thing she desired most before the girl married. Divined through the witch's methods and his own magic, the troll found this one object rooted at the innermost sanctum of the girl's heart. The mirror.

The woman lifted a slender hand to the trim, and traced the flowery carvings. The troll's heart leapt in his throat. Would she smite it with her magic and force him to begin from scratch with only hours to complete a mirror that had taken the better part of the last decade to perfect? Her nails grazed the face of the mirror, their reflexion dimmed by the mirror's dark core.

"It's perfect," The troll gave a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of the contract release him from her power. He quickly escaped the prison he had been confined to, the bride too consumed by the mirror to witness the stocky creature stumble into the open meadow surrounding the tower. The troll breathed the scent of the poppies that grew around the stone spire, their red blossoms lazily swaying in the breeze. How sweet their blooms were! Given time to recover his exhausted magic, revenge on this woman would be nearly as sweet.

* * *

Years passed, and the woman and her husband were blessed with a beautiful baby son. Like his father, a crown of russet locks crested his soft head, and, like his mother, he wore a pair of green eyes glazed by an icy grey. The father held the baby in his arms, warm brown eyes gleaming with unbridled joy and pride. Beneath the fluffy auburn moustache, he smiled and whispered promises of happiness and success. His wife looked on, her glittery green eyes distant, her face wrought in a frown. Despite having birthed her son no more than a week ago, the reality of the child felt far away. The boy could never be as beautiful as she. With her husband cooing over the dozing boy, the lady rose up and stalked away from the warm fire, retreating to the deepest reaches of the castle.

Reaching the top of a spire, the woman breathed a sigh of contentment at the sight of the familiar room. Untouched by her married life or child, the spartan room held her most beloved object. In the center of the room, her mirror stood, its silvery trim polished and its face without a blemish. Taking the golden comb from its nearby stand, she began raking it through her chestnut hair, humming a long lost lullaby as she fell in love with the sight of herself in the mirror's shadowy reflection.

She stopped suddenly, seeing the cloak form that stood tall in the corner of the small room. The woman spun around, her eyes piercing through the figure.

"Leave, before I-" She reached for the slender wand that sat on the stand near the comb. Before her fingers could grace the magical weapon, the being spoke, its hypnotic words reverberating throughout her body.

"Thirteen years of serving,  
thirteen years of strife.

Thee has become a mother  
and a wife,

Yet still your youth preserving.

That mirror, that mirror,

a curse to all,

reveals to you the coldest of all.

Your heart is frozen,

but your happiness won.

So here I curse your last born son,

your own fate you have chosen.

A flame to melt your icy heart,

a fire to tear your life apart.

A flaming arrow in the dark,

piercing the breast of the turgid meadowlark."

Green light emanated from beneath the figure's cloak, growing steadily throughout the verses until the woman was blinded by its brilliance. With a snap, it dissipated, leaving her alone in the dark room. Turning she cried out in horror, the top of her mirror chipped, a small piece of the smokey glass on the floor. The woman collapsed, and held the fragment of glass in her hands. She seethed, anger boiling through her body and leaking into the sliver of glass, molding it in her heated hands.

She was broken from her stupor as her husband called from her below, the woman unaccustomed to the hint of fearful urgency in his usually confident voice. Entering the study, she saw what had stolen her spouse's gusto. On the floor her firstborn son lay, his hands reaching up to the ceiling above, licked with small green flames that danced through the air above him.

The woman began to cry.

* * *

 **For my followers, I apologize (I'm a horrible author I'm so sorry I put you through this). I needed a written break from The Price of a Life, a change of scenery. For new readers, welcome! I have no idea how often this story will update (and as my former followers can attest) if I set a due date for myself, it will never be fulfilled.**

 **As for this story, I am such a sucker for an evil, irredeemable queen, but the evil step-mothers of old have faded from our memories. The closest recent evil mother would be Mother Gothel, second only in my list of favorite manipulative Disney parents to Count Frollo. At the same time, I'm getting a little bored of Disney's "surprise villain" trope. Yes, they do it well, and there's nothing wrong with it! But, goodness, I miss the aura of a vile, awful character on screen that we know immediately will be The Villain. If it must be a "surprise" for the protagonists, then the painful, gut wrenching irony of watching the villain interact with them should impact the audience. I also feel, especially in contemporary media, the concept of a mother is too soft, caring, and gentle. This is just personal opinion. Mothers can be cruel and selfish and cold, and not everything they do is in their children's best interest.**

 **This is just an idea I've been toying with for a while and thinking about lately, I'm curious to see where it will go. Enough of my rambling, the second chapter is in the works, go read something else if you are so inclined.**


	2. Chapter 1: Barn Af Bølgerne

No man dared to be caught in stormy seas such as those that night, where waves taller than church steeples crash upon the deck. Yet there they were, the Najaden crew of the Southern Isles battered by the wind and the seas, searching for a missing fleet from Weselton. Lieutenant Holbein peered through the inky night, cold rain soaking through his cloak and running down his back. Goose bumps roose on his arms, the young Lieutenant thinking back to tales of Kraken and Draugen rising from the stormy seas to sink unfortunate ships that too boldly sailed into their seas. He shook himself, raindrops spraying from the brim of his hat as he did so.

From the darkness below the ship, the melody of a song drifted on the waves, the sad tune of a long forgotten lullaby. It was subtle enough that not a crew member noticed it, but poignant enough to send a shiver down their spines.

"It's useless," Captain Anika said from behind him, though, amidst the whipping wind and crashing waves she was forced to shout. "We are barely staying afloat, and our ships are better suited for these seas than the Weaselton's," the captain surveyed the battered crew, her lieutenant squinting at her tall form in the darkness, "Men, prepare to turn back-"

"Sail ho!" The cry came from the crow's nest, and indeed, illuminated by a flash of lightning was the quickly sinking remains of the much smaller and more delicate cargo ship. In an instant the captain's expression of resignation ignited into one of urgency, eyes flashing to the lieutenant.

"Step to it! Search for survivors, lest they be shark bait," Her voice was strong and loud above the storm, the ship beginning to cut through the already shredded debris of the vessel.

"Captain," Holbein called out, gripping the rail of the ship as it turned starboard to avoid crushing anyone who might have survived the sinking, "Should we try to recover the ship? The cargo-"

"It ran aground, we're close to the Grim Reef," Anika responded, fighting the current that dared try to wrench the wheel from her iron grip. "Any closer any we'll share their fate,"

"But should they wash ashore-"

"We can send a dingy when the storm passes to inspect the island, the current is too strong," Her eyes softened at the lieutenant's pained expression.

"But the island-"

"Ho!" Cried a deckhand below them. Others joined him to see what he had discovered. "Body!" The shouted up, "There's a body!"

"Captain-" Before Holbein could caution his superior officer, she had fastened a rope to her waist and, having spotted the pale corpse gripping to a shard of the ship's bow, jumped overboard. The lieutenant luckily secured the rope before Anika was lost to the sea. Her voice, garbled by seawater, called up to the crew.

"Hoist! The nipper's alive!" With the strength of thirty men behind him, Holbein pulled the two up the side of the ship. The captain was drenched, her hat lost to the crashing waves. Most startling to the rain soak crew was the naked body of a child in her arms. Perhaps stranger still, was the long tail tipped with silvery hairs that extended from the child's waist.

* * *

The ship docked just as the first rays of sunlight kissed the horizon, the sky bleeding bright pink above the crew that stood to attention before their captain. Not a soul moved about on the docks, and only the breathing of the sailors could be heard as their captain scanned their faces for any sign of disloyalty.

"Not one of you knaves is to speak of this manner unless you are directly contacted by the Queen or King, they want this kept secret. We found the shipwreck by Grim, torn to shreds by the reef. No bodies or survivors were recovered, savvy?" There was a murmur of approval from the crew. "Swear by the mast you swabs!" She hollered at them, her voice rough from yelling commands at high seas the night before.

"Aye, aye captain!" The crew responded heartily, dispersing to tend to their battered ship. The Luietenant looked over his captain's shoulder, nervous eyes darting among the men.

"This ain't the Royal Navy, soldier. They're a bunch of carousing bilge rats, but my ship isn't loose in the stays if you know what I mean." Anika said, glancing the the young sailor from the corner of her eye. "You going ashore with the lass? Not trusting me mateys with 'er?" Holbein broke from his stupor.

"Uh, yes, aye, I'll take her to the castle. You sent a bird ahead for me, right?" The captain nodded, thick black curls becoming frizzy in the morning heat.

"You best be going, before the morning rush," She gave him a small smile, dark eyes meeting his own pale green. "Give my Torry a kiss for me, and tell him to get his arse out of that study of his for a few weeks, enjoy the ocean," Holbein gave a weak smile at the mention of his older brother.

"Yes, ma'am," Anika tipped his hat playfully.

"Get, before I tell him I found a new boy to keep my cabin warm," Holbein smiled and walked down to the captain's quarters, the deck creaking beneath his boots as he stepped inside.

The girl sat quietly with her back to the door, her dark hair stiff from the sea water. The captain had clothed her in simply a blouse, but on the child's small frame, and with a length of rope round her waist, it could have been a dainty night dress. From the base of her back, the tail, now dried, occasionally twitched. Short white hairs covered the length of the appendage, and around its tip, a switch of long, silky hairs extended. Holbein cleared his throat.

She turned to see him, her pale skin lightly glazed by sea salt. In the dim light of the nearby lantern, her brown eyes appeared black. The child had not spoken since she had arrived, and, according to the captain, she had awoken and sat on the edge of her cot, just as she was now. Holbein stared at her for a few minutes, her ethereal presence hypnotic. She seemed to be softly glowing, wisps of light trailing her as she stepped softly to the door. It was as if she knew why he was there.

Shaking himself from the trance, Holbein took her outstretched hand and led her out of the cabin, across the ship, and down the gangplank. Above seagulls squawked, the girl immediately staring at the birds as they fought over a dead fish on the docks. Holbein chuckled to himself. It was as if the child had never seen them before. Overhead, the whistle of the captains eagle caught the child's attention. The large, brown bird glided overhead, its crest of white feathers hidden from view as the majestic bird descended upon the ship.

The pair kept walking, Holbein's horse at the castle stable. The seaside town began to wake up, the shops slowly opening their doors and vendors setting up their carts. A distant rooster crowed, causing the girl to jump in surprise. She didn't seem afraid of the sights and sounds, not even confused. It was as if she didn't expect them to be there, but was pleasantly surprised to discover them.

Soon they came upon the castle grounds, the wrought iron fence and gate standing high above them. The child looked up in wonder, the gilded spires of the fence sparkling in the morning light. Holbein took a key from its chain around his neck, and unlocked the gate.

The courtyard was green, in spite of the encroaching golds and reds of autumn. Tall carmine rose bushes lined the wide cobblestone path, with white daisies filling the void beneath the neatly trimmed bushes. Butterflies flitted through the air, their colorful wings causing the child to gape at their beauty.

"You think this is pretty? You haven't seen the gardens, kid," Holbein said with a chuckle as the two approached the castle entrance.

"Prince Holbein," The guards said in unison, the two men lifting their spears slightly. "You've brought a...guest?" One of them said, squinting at the child. Her tail twitched beneath her improvised dress.

"Yes, the Queen has been informed," Holbein informed the two as he and the child passed through into the main hall of the castle. The sloping staircase in the center of the room led the two to the throne room, where the Queen sat in her throne, her crown glittering atop her head.

"My Queen," Holbein said, kneeling before his mother. The child did not kneel, even as Holbein motioned for her to do so. "Kneel," He murmured, but the girl looked up at the queen blankly, doe brown eyes fixated on the woman. Holbein stood, seeing that the child would not listen to him. "Mother-"

"You found this child by Grim?" She asked, eyes cold and calculating as the woman stood. Holbein kept his eyes down and nodded stiffly. "What a darling she is!" The queen suddenly exclaimed, stepping quickly down to their level, her train of her crimson gown flowing after her as she rushed to the child.

Holbein jumped away as his mother doted over the girl, the Queen's sudden outburst unexpected and uncharacteristic.

"Mother, are you feeling well-?" Holbein was cut off as his mother flashed an angry glare in his direction. It was a look he knew well, the expression used prior to his brothers' many and various punishments for their own strange outbursts. It was a warning message, one Holbein obeyed as he slipped out of the throne room. A weigh settled in his chest as he walked away, but he knew it was too late to argue with the Queen. She had an iron will even the King bowed to.

With her son gone, the queen stood staid, a faux smile still on her crimson lips.

"Would you like to see the garden? I'm sure you'll love the flowers," The girl stared at the woman warily, eyebrows knit together in cautious apprehension. The woman's soft, pale hand wavered, her painted nails twitching as she waited for the child to respond to the gesture. Impatient, the woman grabbed her wrist, and began walking. The weak child followed blindly, tail stilled and eyes glassy.

* * *

The two traveled through the maze of thorny bushes clad in pink roses. The dense foliage lined the sides of the twisting, winding path of the garden, which gradually disintegrated into a maze of multicolored flora the deeper they traveled. They walked in silence, and gradually, the Queen's vice-like grip loosened. The child was too absorbed by the flowers to remember her earlier distrust of the woman. Both were broken from their trance as the child's stomach growled. The girl blushed, and wrapped her tail around her waist to hold the silver switch of hairs in her hands.

"Wait right here, I'm going to get you some food," The Queen said sweetly, patting the girl's unruly black curls. Wringing her tail in her dainty hands, the child anxiously watched the woman step around the corner of the path and disappear into the greenness.

She waited a moment, the gnawing hunger in her stomach consuming her every thought. The sun grew higher in the sky, burning down on the child. Now she was growing thirsty, licking her salt stained lips. The Queen wasn't coming back.

The girl ran through the maze of roses and sunflowers and orchids. Nothing seemed familiar, the flowers constantly changing and repeating throughout the rows. She was lost.

The girl collapsed, exhaustion, dehydration, and hunger taking over. Tears fell from her eyes, but she did not sob. The tears fell to the ground silently, the child too tired and hungry to care.

A bush behind her rustled, and she stopped crying. Too weak to stand, the child merely turned her head to the source of the sound. It came from behind rose bush, the red blossoms a perfect camouflage. But she could still see him, most children had an acute awareness of the supernatural, especially evil. There was no point in hiding.

The man stepped out from behind the bush, his red cap slightly disturbed by the thorny branches. Though his beard was white and his face weathered, he stood only slightly taller than the child when drawn up to her full height. He sighed and stepped to the child's side, and placed his calloused hands at the base of her neck. He would make it quick, painless, and then the Queen would cease tormenting him with ridiculous requests for him to destroy her unruly offspring.

"Hello, Soulis," The child said without looking at the man as his hands tightened around her neck, her voice husky from lack of use, but still holding a key of a hypnotic tune. The goblin stopped, his own name sounding foreign to him. He raised a bushy eyebrow and released his grip. Something tickled his legs, causing him to look down. The girl's silvery white tail twitched, and she looked up at the being that stood above her.

"Hulder," The magical being murmured, taking a step away from the young girl in wary fear. The girl cocked her head to the side, and turned to face him. The girl, like he, was not entirely of this land.

"Hilde?" She asked, having misheard his muttering. She did not understand, and separated from her own kind, she never would. The man extended a hand, smiling to reveal rows of crooked, black teeth.

"I'm Sully, a gardener here. You must've gotten a little lost, eh?" The child took his hand tentatively, but was thankful to discover his rough hands clasped her own delicate digits gently. "What's your name kid?" The girl looked up at him as they walked through the garden, his voice croaky but comforting.

"You called me Hilde," She whispered softly, so as to not hurt her still delicate voice. The man was confused for a moment.

"Hilde? Hild- Oh! Oh, yes dear. Your name is Hildegard, you live with the servant, remember?" He said, trying to plant false memories in the child's head. If she stayed nearby, but out of the Queen's sight perhaps…

"I don't remember…" The child said with a sniff, the aroma of smoke and stew filling the air as they exited the garden to see the busy work yard that was nestled behind the castle. Horses pulled wagons full of hay and manure back and forth from the stables, and maids ran about with everything from piglets to bread in their arms as they arranged the afternoon meal. The painful hunger of the child returned, and she whimpered as a roast pig on a spit was carried into the kitchen.

"All right, all right, let's get some food in you,"

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you all so much who have reviewed and followed this story thus far! Again, I cannot say how often it will update, but I do have three acts roughly planned. I'm glad you're enjoying the story thus far, but don't be off put by the change in perspective this chapter! The Prologue was merely meant as an introduction to the creative liberties and tone I'm taking with this story and the loose canon surrounding the Southern Isles. And don't worry Hans fans (haha it rhymes see?) we'll get to see him soon.**


	3. Chapter 2: Legekammerat

The young prince peeked through the keyhole of his door, searching for certain bothersome siblings or servants that would impede his plans. In his hands, he held a bundle in a small blanket, the contents of bulging from their close confines. The coast was clear.

He tiptoed down the corridor, passing the dark door that led to the tower, not even the servants were allowed to see. The young prince scurried down the remainder of the hallway, fearful that his mother would emerge from her sanctuary and catch him in the act. So quickly he hurried down the corridor that he bumped into an approaching maid.

"Little Prince!" She exclaimed, grey hair peeking out from beneath her cap. It was Agnes, the nursemaid who was tasked with looking after the boy and his older brothers. "Where are you in such a hurry to get to?"

He shifted uncomfortably, unable to lie to the woman who had protected him from so many torments.

"Emil said I could come down to his study for a little while," The child explained sheepishly, the makeshift bag revealing its contents of battered and scraped toy soldiers. "I thought maybe he would let me play down there," Tears began to form in his fearful eyes. He wasn't supposed to leave his room unless his father or mother beckoned him. Not after a particular incident with a certain pair of older brothers. Agnes smiled warmly, and slowly brought a hand to ruffle the child's russet locks.

"Oh, Hans," She said with a small chuckle,"Don't worry, I won't tell your mother." The older woman glanced down the hall to the dark door. "Run along now, before she comes down,"

"What if she checks for me?" Hans asked, wiping the half-formed tears from his eyes.

"I'll tell her you went to see Johan, she'll leave it at that I'm sure," The boy furrowed his brow, instinctively looking down at the ground as if he could see the distant lab far below castle floors. "Now hurry, quickly," Agnes urged, continuing down the corridor.

Hans broke into a sprint, bare feet treading softly on the carpeted halls. He descended the stone stairs, the cold steps illuminated by torches hung from the walls. Through a labyrinth of hallways he ran, the bag of toys jostling over his shoulder. He slowed as he approached the study, catching his breath. Panting for a few moments, his shallow breathing drew attention from the other side of the door.

"Who's-?" The young man stopped, his rigid face etched with surprise, and concern. "Why Prince Hans-"

"Can Emil play with me? He said he would-"

"Sorry, Hans," A soft voice murmured from behind the tutor. The man moved away, a young boy a little older than Hans standing behind him, violin in hand. "Her Highness asked me to practice my violin, it's horrible." The boy glanced at his brother through a pair of thick glasses. "Sorry again, I didn't have time to have Aggie tell you…" He trailed off, Hans' darkened eyes trained on his bare feet.

"It's okay, wouldn't want to disappoint Mom," Emil winced, knowing the Queen asked her children to use proper titles, even in reference to their own family. Hans' eyes stung with tears, he just wanted someone to play with. "Sorry for interrupting," He murmured as the tutor closed the door, the soft cries of the violin echoing through the castle. It was in perfect tune, and Emil wasn't missing a single note. He never did.

Hans sighed, knowing that if he went back to his room now, he wouldn't leave until supper; and if he stayed until the end of Emil's lesson, he would be caught by a less forgiving maid, or perhaps even his own mother. He walked aimlessly through the halls, the glass windows giving him a view of the grey sky above and green earth below. He turned down another pathway, his feet taking somewhere of their accord. Hans looked up at the pair of doors, light returning to his crestfallen features.

"Dad!" He giggled, throwing the door to the royal library open. At the end of the room the King sat at his desk, paper strewn across the floor and books piled high around him. To his left and right shelves upon shelves of tomes sat, their dark recesses reaching throughout the room so large it could have been its own building.

"Hans!" The King exclaimed, fear and worry claiming his features before the man recognized his son's blissful smile and bag of toys. "What are you doing down here? You know you're not supposed to bother me while I'm working," Hans' smile fell, and he stopped halfway across the carpet that led to the King's desk. The older man's stern expression slowly melted, a joking light in his eyes. "Well, so long as your mother doesn't know and I can take a break too," The Kind finished with a chuckle, carefully maneuvering around the stacks of paperwork as Hans reanimated and sprinted the rest of the way to his father.

He dropped his bag of toys, the wooden soldiers tumbling out of the blanket as he jumped into his father's arms. Laughing the two spun around before falling down, Hans scrambling to the toys as his father recovered from the landing.

The pair set up the soldiers in rows, the paint chipped from the once shiny wooden toys. Some were badly burned, sooty handprints covering the toys, but the father and son took no notice as they prepared a makeshift battlefield of books and inkwells for the soldiers to fight around. As they played, the Kind would recount battle songs and tales for the boy, setting up the battlefield and soldiers to mimic past victories and defeats. Enthralled, Hans would watch with bright eyes, brimming with curiosity and happiness.

The door to the library opened with a thunk, the solid doors ricocheting off the wall as the Queen stormed through. Han's heart jumped to his throat, his lungs constricting. He released the captive breath as a few familiar faces filed into the room. His oldest brother, Kennet, aloof and stately with several books tucked beneath one arm, the other holding a fistful of papers. The other man Hans did not know by name, but his narrow face and beetle eyes were seen in the King's study on most days.

"Dear-!" The Queen started, marveling at how quickly the towers of important novels and documents had been converted into fortresses on either side of the desk. Spilled ink dripped over half-written letters and signed documents. Blotches of ink lay beneath knocked over soldiers, the King's not-so-subtle indication that they were out of the game. The King stood abruptly, dropping the toy soldier in his hand and, miraculously, avoided toppling one of the fortress' tower of novellas.

"I...can explain," He began, holding up a finger in defense as he searched for the words to follow. The Queen rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing. Hans, still frozen, began to slowly reach for the dropped soldier, assuming his mother's attention was diverted for the moment. It wasn't.

"Hans," She hissed, her hands on her hips. The boy quickly swiped every soldier from their battlegrounds without a word, hands shaking more with every passing second. He just wanted to disappear. Thankfully, the beady-eyed man's rambling filled the room.

"Why your Highness! This is no way...Oh, what would the ambassadors think? Have you finished that letter to Arendelle? I mean, of course, I'm not telling you to be a bit more productive. But clearly- I mean, you might need to, uh, better manage your time-!" The man's ramblings dulled, Hans timidly creeping past his mother. Perhaps Emil had finished with his lesson-

"Prince Ken, would you show Hans to his quarters? And inform his nursemaid to see me later as to the nature of this… escapade." The Queen spoke softly, but her voice carried an authority neither brother wished to challenge. Silently, the two exited the room, the beetle man still rambling, the King's shoulders sagging as the lecture drew on.

The two brothers walked silently through the carpeted halls, Kennet still holding an armful of books and Hans dragging his bag of now ink-stained toy soldiers. They walked past the wall of windows, rain distorting the outside world to swirls of grey, brown, and green. Every now and then, Hans would glance at his older sibling, hoping for some meaningful eye contact, wishing words of understanding or comfort would spill from his mouth now that they were out of earshot of their mother. The more Hans looked at his brother, the less these connections seemed possible. Already his eyes were dull with exhaustion, no doubt having been concerning himself with learning about his soon-to-be wife. Though the politics of the eldest son's marriage would evade Hans until years later, the boy could still tell his brother was equally apathetic to the upcoming event as he was fearful of not putting on a convincing performance for the dignitaries, kings, and queens that would attend. Hans knew Emil got nervous when asked to play for a visiting ambassador, and he could imagine Kennet's anxiety was much worse.

The door to his room approached, and Hans looked back up at his brother. For a split second, the boy thought those glassy, grey eyes lingered on him with some emotion, but the moment passed. Hans opened the door to his room, listening to Kennet close it and lock it behind him. The boy waited a few seconds, ears trained on the sound of leather boots treading the stone hall. As soon as they faded, he let out a roar of frustration and threw the toys on the ground. In his tantrum he flailed his hands and kicked his feet, cries choked by anger.

A fist still clenched the soldier his father had dropped, the chipped paint cracking and peeling away from the heat, smoke rising from the toy. Taken aback, Hans dropped the soldier and tucked his hands beneath his arms. Memories of the very incident that condemned him to his room surfacing, his breathing speeding up as he panicked.

After a moment, still catching his breath, the heat emanating from his hands dissipating as he calmed. The boy sighed, the still smoldering toy soldier glowing gently on the floor. Hans prompted himself to pick up his mess, such conditions unbecoming for a prince. He set the soldiers on their shelf, in neat little rows. The disfigured, beheaded, maimed, burned, and scratched army trudging away from a battlefield in defeat Hans thought, looking at the display from his bed. The newly singed commander leading the disenchanted, disheveled troops back to the comfort of their homes. The air in the small room now smelled oppressively of smoke.

Hans walked over to the window, the crude wooden blinds barely succeeding in keep out the world beyond, but enough to prevent the room from proper ventilation. He threw them open, the rain now stopping. Immediately, the prince was assaulted by the sounds and smells of the work yard below. While Kennet and his older brothers shared rooms at the front of the palace, overlooking gardens and fields, Hans was subjected to a lonesome tower behind the imperial facade of the castle's swooping steeples and intricate buttresses. However, he didn't mind, the bustle of life below him satisfying. Horses pulled a cart of manure through a puddle, the grooms walking an unruly filly to her stall as the Ferrier rubbed a sore shoulder. On the ill-constructed sheds that housed tools for the servants, maids, and gardeners, hundreds of birds gathered, pecking at the thatch roofing for bugs and observing the life below, much like the young prince.

Hans jumped a little, a small explosion sending smoke and embers flying from the blacksmith's workplace, the stout man coughing as he tried in vain to wave away the black smog. The bird's below scattered, flying by the hundreds into the air like a thousand screeching arrows soaring towards an unprepared army. The boy watched in wonder, their grey and white plumage glittering with raindrops. He set his head down at the edge of the window, watching the flurry of feathers fly past, their wings whispering as they passed.

The moment was interrupted when something flew by his head, the tip of the projectile nicking his ear. It landed with a thud, burying itself and its prey into the wooden floorboards of the room. He froze for a moment, and brought a hand to his ear, a few droplets of blood running down his fingers. The prince looked with horror at the snow-white pigeon, its feathers now decorated with crimson. Cautiously, he looked back out the window, fearing the worst.

An insurgent, a rebellion, a murder attempt, a coup for the throne- or a girl dressed in servant rags with a flimsy wooden bow in her hands, her eyes wide and mouth agape as she stared back at the littlest prince.

* * *

 **Little Hans is going to be fun to write once he breaks out of his shell, I can feel it. And for the Anon from the previous chapter, of course! Parents are just kids who grew up and had kids of their own, and both a capable of being incredible or less than stellar. Again, it's just my opinion, that too often the "strict, authoritarian, intimidating parent" stereotype too often falls on the fathers, leaving the mothers these passive, nearly irrelevant characters that rarely impact their child's life, or alternatively, some gentle angel with no faults (don't worry, King Westergaard has _plenty_ of his own shortcomings as we'll see in later chapters). So I wanted to switch things up a little bit and reverse the roles so to speak. **

**Babbling aside, thank y'all again for showing up and reading! You're like, super awesome and I can't tell you how often I think of the nice reviewers while writing.**


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